


Legs Crossed Towards Each Other

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teachers, F/M, Matchmaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 10:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8575567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: It starts with Raven wanting to set up Mr. Sinclair, out of what are probably genuinely good intentions.It's everyone else who turns it into a massive headache for Bellamy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, just FYI, this is a lot of age switching, by which I mean Bellamy and Clarke are teachers and basically all the other delinquents are in high school. So be prepared for that. It was weird for me.

It starts off as Raven's idea, and it starts out much more noble. Or, rather, it _is_ noble, when Raven's doing it. Mr. Sinclair, the physics teacher, seems like he's had a tough year, and Raven recruits everyone to help her with a matchmaking scheme to set him up.

"Teachers definitely think this is creepy," says Octavia. They have her brother for debate, so she should know.

"Yeah, your feedback is noted," says Raven, and writes _Mr. Blake_ on her list of potential partners for Mr. Sinclair.

"No," Monty finds himself saying. "No way."

He tends to stay quiet in these things--he's more of a follower than a leader, when it comes to wacky schemes--so everyone's attention turns to him at once.

"What's wrong with Bell?" Octavia demands.

"Yeah, if anyone needs to get laid, it's Mr. Blake," Jasper adds. "Maybe he'd stop being such a hardass if he was getting some. No offense, Octavia."

She rolls her eyes. "None taken. He hasn't dated anyone in ages. I don't want to talk about my brother's sex life, but it's definitely pathetic."

"So why not Mr. Blake, Monty?" asks Miller. 

Monty was sort of hoping the conversation had left him, but no such luck. "Because I ship him and Ms. Griffin," he says.

There's a pause while the rest of the group considers this.

Everyone likes Ms. Griffin. He's pretty sure she is a genuinely competent and terrifying person, but it's kind of hard to take her seriously because she does double duty as an art teacher and a civics teacher, so even when she's giving impassioned and righteous speeches about social justice, she tends to have paint in her hair.

"Oh, yeah," says Octavia. "That's definitely a better ship for Bell. I don't know if he's ever even talked to Mr. Sinclair."

"They must have _talked_ ," Jasper objects. "They're both teachers."

"We should set them up too," Miller says, thoughtful. "Mr. Blake and Ms. Griffin, I mean. While we're doing the Sinclair thing."

Everyone turns to Raven, since it was her idea, and nothing sucks like getting your idea co-opted, and obviously their priority should be on him.

Just--Monty thinks Mr. Blake and Ms. Griffin would be really cute together, okay? He sees them chatting in the cafeteria sometimes, and they make each other _laugh_. Which shouldn't be a big deal, but Mr. Blake works this grumpy, surly, sarcastic persona, and Ms. Griffin wavers between impassioned defender of public engagement and absent-minded artist, and neither of them really ever looks just _relaxed_.

Except when they talk to each other.

Raven, with all due gravity, crosses _Mr. Blake_ off her list of potential partners for Mr. Sinclair and writes _Side project: Mr. Blake/Ms. Griffin_ on the other side of the paper. 

"Works for me," she says. "But come on. I need more names, people."

*

Bellamy Blake is used to high-school students being weird. The weirdness of high-school students was, in fact, one of the reasons he wasn't sure about becoming a high-school teacher. He still remembers being in high school, and he wasn't convinced he wanted to deal with that again.

But he loves teaching, and any other age range would be _worse_. Elementary-school kids are cute, but he didn't really want to do the swiss-army teaching he'd need to, for that age range. And teaching college would probably pay better, but he'd need a degree he can't afford. And the whole higher education system honestly terrifies him. Tenure seems great if you get it and horrifying until then.

So he's teaching high school, and he does not trust any of his students as far as he can throw them. Especially not now that Octavia is old enough to be in his classes, so not only does he have to deal with her, but all her friends think they know him and are on good terms with him, just because they hang out on his couch sometimes.

So, yeah. It's a problem.

"Yeah, ever being nice to the students would definitely interfere with your whole _I hate everyone_ persona," Clarke teases.

"I do hate everyone," he says, shaking his sandwich at her for emphasis.

Clarke rolls her eyes, fond, and he tries not to smile. It's hard to be properly grumpy and aloof when Clarke has a splotch of green paint on her temple. 

It's a good thing she's never in his classroom. He'd fall apart in five minutes flat.

"Yeah, you're just non-stop hatred," she agrees. "So, what did the kids do?"

"What?"

"I assume something happened. You're really all-in on everyone getting off your lawn today. So what did they do?"

"They've been acting weird," he says, grudging.

"Yeah, I got that. I was looking for a little more information."

"Honestly? All the high-school bullshit, but at me. Whispering, giggling, talking behind my back and stopping as soon as I turn around--"

"I assume I'm not the first person to tell you this, but you're hot," Clarke says. Luckily, she goes on before he can embarrass himself with a response to that. "Your students are probably talking about how hot you are. That can't be new."

"No," he admits. "But my sister is involved, so I'm really hoping that's not it."

"Okay, yeah. Maybe her friends are doing it and she's disgusted. That's what I would have done in high school."

He frowns. "Which part?"

"All of it? Come on, hot teacher who's also my friend's brother? I would have talked about you extra just to annoy her."

She's now said he's hot _twice_ , which instantly improves his day. Maybe he can get it up to three, if he keeps complaining about his students. "Good to know you were an asshole in high school too."

"Basically since birth." She steals one of his baby carrots. "I wouldn't worry about it. What do you really think they're going to do? Like, realistically speaking. They're your sister's friends, so they probably aren't trying to get you fired." She flashes him a grin. "That's the nice thing about dumb high school stuff. It's probably nothing to worry about."

"Is Jasper straight?"

"Jasper Jordan? I think so, why?"

"Because I don't know why he'd be giggling about how hot I am," he grumbles.

Clarke pats his arm. "Because you're just _that_ hot, obviously."

Three times. 

"That must be it," he says, and she smiles.

"I'm telling you."

*

"Any questions?"

Monty Green's hand shoots up, and Bellamy nods at him. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Sorry, I meant questions about the homework. Any questions about the homework?"

"You didn't say about the homework," says Nate Miller, who is secretly Bellamy's (non-Octavia) favorite. "You opened yourself to all questions, Mr. Blake. Don't punish Monty for exploiting the loophole."

"I don't have a girlfriend," he says. "Or a boyfriend. This is in no way relevant to any of your lives except maybe Octavia's, so I don't know why we're talking about it, but Nate's right, I didn't say that wasn't a valid question before. Anyone have questions about the homework or anything directly related to the class?"

"Do you not have time for a significant other because you're too busy with grading?" asks Jasper. He is at the top of Bellamy's list of suspicious students, basically all the time. He's shifty. "Because we wouldn't mind having less homework. For the good of your personal life."

"Thanks for your concern, Jasper. If anyone else has questions about my love life, you can ask Octavia. Have a good weekend guys."

Octavia comes over to his desk, which he was expecting, and glares at him. "Remember how you're supposed to pretend you don't know me in class?"

"Remember how you're supposed to stop your friends from asking me inappropriate personal questions?" He considers her. "Seriously, what's happening with you guys? You're acting weirder than usual."

"Paranoia is _so_ uncool, Bell. Not everything is about you."

"I think I'm allowed to think people asking me direct questions about me is about me."

"And I think you should go back to pretending you don't know me in public." She pauses. "Are you still chaperoning that thing this weekend?"

"I chaperone every year."

She huffs. "Ugh, fine. Definitely pretend you don't know me at that."

"Am I pretending I don't know you when you want a ride home after school?"

Her only response is a dismissive wave of her hand over her shoulder as she leaves, and he's still grinning when next period starts.

 _Chaperone_ isn't exactly the right word for what he does at the school fair. It's more of an advising and supervising position, making sure that none of the clubs he's involved with set their booths on fire. He has no obligation to make sure any kids don't die--well, no more than usual--and most of his actual responsibilities are actually about Clarke.

Because Clarke, in addition to being the faculty supervisor for the art club and GSA, somehow got roped into organizing the entire fair a couple years back. Which wouldn't be so bad, except that Clarke has been roped into supervising roughly a billion other things too, and, as her friend, Bellamy is obliged to help with most if not all of them. 

By which he means he shows up early, gives her coffee and a breakfast sandwich, and asks what help she needs.

"What?" she asks. Her hair is wisping out of the bun she tried to put it in, and she looks like she didn't sleep.

"I know you're competent, so I don't get why this is such a problem," he says. "Eat your food."

"Oh," she says, blinking. "Food."

"Seriously, I have no idea why this is the event that makes you fall apart. You do better with basically everything else."

"Because I'm so fucking busy this time of year," Clarke says. She takes a long drink of coffee, eyes sliding shut with pleasure. "If this was all I was doing, I'd rock it. But I've got way too much going on."

"Some people thrive when they're busy."

"I thrive," she says. "Everything's going really well."

"If you're not eating, your life isn't going really well." He bumps her shoulder. "Eat the sandwich. What still needs to get done?"

"It's getting done. I have students to use for labor. Not that I don't appreciate it," she adds quickly. "Seriously, thanks for coming and bringing me food. But you can relax for now. Jasper will break something sooner or later."

He freezes with the cup halfway to his lips. "Jordan?"

"Yeah. Monty always drags him to help with GSA stuff. Why?"

"I'm pretty sure he and Monty are plotting against me."

"Wow."

"Shut up. They were asking me about my personal life on Friday."

"Yeah, how dare they."

"It seriously has no impact on their lives if I have a girlfriend."

Clarke smiles into her coffee. "It does if they think you're hot."

"No, it doesn't, because I'm ten years older than they are and a teacher. So they have just as much of a chance of dating me if I'm single or if I'm taken."

"The fantasy's better if you're single, though."

"The amount of first-person knowledge you have about having a crush on a teacher is starting to weird me out."

"Having crushes on teachers seemed less weird when I was in high school. I didn't really think about the teacher side. And it's not just teachers. Haven't you ever been irrationally disappointed that your favorite celebrity was married?"

"Uh, not really. Is that actually a thing? And if you think I'm Monty's favorite celebrity, I'm going to be really concerned. He could do better."

"I think if you worry this much every time a student shows interest in your personal life, you're going to get wrinkles."

"That seems fine. I get wrinkles, students realize I'm old and unattractive, the problem goes away. You think gray hair would help? I found a few last week."

"You did not," Clarke says, with a roll of her eyes.

"Seriously."

He leans down to show her, and that's unfortunately when Octavia and Harper show up. Octavia gives him one of her _it is genuinely embarrassing that we live on the same continent_ looks, and Clarke drops her hand out of his hair.

Of the two, the second is definitely worse.

"Hi, Ms. Griffin," says O, ignoring him entirely. "We're here to set up the bean bag toss. Too early?"

"Nope, go ahead. You know where everything is?"

"Yeah."

"Cool. I trusted Monty with the keys, so I assume Jasper is locked in the storage room. Make sure he gets food and water, okay?"

"Will do," she says, and Bellamy only relaxes when they're out of sight.

"I hate school events," he mutters, and Clarke pats his shoulder.

"Thanks for coming anyway."

"You owe me."

"I must owe you like twenty by now," she says.

"It's like those arcade tickets. I'm saving up for the X-Box."

"How many more do you need?"

"No idea. You can let me know when you're that grateful."

"Yeah. I'll keep you posted."

*

"It was definitely, _definitely_ flirting," says Harper. "No question. She was playing with his hair."

"She wasn't playing with it. It looked like she was checking him for lice. You're giving Bell way too much credit. He really doesn't have that much game."

"You're his sister. That means you're informed, but also biased. And if he had game, it's not like he'd be showing it off for you," says Jasper.

"He wouldn't be showing it off here either. I'm not saying he doesn't have a thing for Ms. Griffin," she says quickly. "He totally does. He's just not really flirting yet. You're acting like this is a done deal, and there's no way."

"But we're agreed it's a good sign, right?" Harper asks. "Way more than anything with Mr. Sinclair and Ms. Cartwig."

"I still don't think he likes women," Monty puts in. His gaydar--or whatever you call it when you're bi--isn't great, but he's working on it. And he has really strong feelings about this one. 

"One week per suitor if we don't see sparks," says Jasper. "We'll try Mr. Hedge next."

"Everyone knows this is really creepy, right?" Octavia asks.

"Or it's romantic," says Miller. Monty honestly cannot tell if he's being serious or not. Miller has the best poker face he has ever seen.

"Nope," says Octavia. "First one. What are you guys doing to my brother? So I can avoid it."

"Nothing _bad_ ," says Jasper.

"Miller's just going to spill something on him," Monty adds. "He still trusts Miller."

"I'm totally his favorite," says Miller, with a grin that is not good for Monty's overall state of mind.

Crushes suck.

"So, you want to see my brother take his shirt off and you're pretending it's about Ms. Griffin."

It is a pretty good summary of the situation. "I'm going to try to do it when Mr. Sinclair is around too," says Monty. "Just to see how he reacts."

"You are all deranged," says Octavia, but she's smiling, and when Monty offers his hand for a high five, she gives him one.

"At least we're not studying right now," Miller points out, and Octavia laughs.

"Yeah, that helps too."

*

Bellamy is sitting on a picnic table, reading and periodically glancing up to make sure nothing is on fire, when Nate Miller plows into him.

Well, okay, the exact order of events is: Bellamy feels something incredibly cold hit his back, he yelps and jumps up, and then Nate hits him, one elbow in his back, and nearly knocks him off his barely regained feet.

"Oh, shit!" says Nate. And then, "Uh, I mean. Shoot. I'm really sorry, Mr. Blake."

Bellamy cranes around, trying to assess the damage. Whatever's on his shirt is still freezing against his skin, and worse with the wind behind him. "I can't even tell what hit me."

"Blue slushie."

"Of course it was. How bad it is?"

"You have a giant blue starburst on your back," says Clarke, and he jumps. He had no idea she'd joined them. "It's kind of cool, but probably not the fashion statement you actually want to make."

"Jesus," he says, and goes for the buttons on his shirt, getting it undone and shrugging it off so he can survey the damage. It's probably not going to stain permanently, but--wow, yeah, he cannot wear this.

"It's on your tank top too," Clarke says, bright. 

"Seriously, Nate?"

"How is this my fault?" Nate asks. "I tripped. I didn't force slushie through your shirt."

"Sounds like what someone who forced slushie through my shirt would say," he says. 

Clarke is still watching. "You should probably take your tank top off."

"Do you have a spare shirt for me? I don't want to catch a cold."

She rolls her eyes. "Come on, I can find something for you in the art room. We've got smocks."

"Oh good, smocks."

"I might have an old t-shirt in the rag bag. If you play your cards right. Nate, don't let anyone die while we're gone."

"If someone's gonna die, it's better if it happens when you're inside," Nate points out. "Then it's not your fault."

"Thanks. That makes me feel a lot better." Clarke pats his shoulder. "Come on, I'll get you fixed up."

My hero," says Bellamy, but he follows her into the school and watches as she unlocks the art room. He doesn't have many excuses to come in here, but he always likes it. He honestly loves high-school art, both good and bad. 

Plus, Clarke has some of her own stuff hanging up too, and that's always a highlight.

"Do you actually have clothes in here?"

"I should, yeah. We use them for painting, so no one gets stains on their clothes but me." She's leaning into the closet, trying to find her rag bag or smocks or whatever, and he takes the opportunity to take off his tank top and see how bad it is.

"This is barely stained," he tells her.

"It's stained enough."

"I think you just wanted to get me naked and alone."

"Wait, are you naked now? I'm really missing out." She emerges from the closet with a ratty t-shirt, and the sweep of her eyes is both unsubtle and appreciative. Which he totally deserves, if he does say so himself. He's got a pretty good workout regime going, considering how busy he is. "Eh, close enough." She tosses him the shirt. "I'm not sure that's actually going to fit."

The shirt is bright orange and claims he participated in a Fun Run he's never even heard of, in addition to being splattered in paint. And possibly too small. 

"Is this actually an improvement?" he asks. "Like, I could just wear the tank top. This isn't that much cleaner."

"You don't have to be embarrassed to wear the t-shirt, Bellamy."

"I think I do," he says, but pulls it on anyway. It's way too tight and looks awful with his skin tone. He's not sure there is a less flattering shirt in the world.

"Perfect," says Clarke. "Lets get back out there before Nate goes mad with power."

"This is going to cut off circulation in my arms."

"Yeah, but they're going to look huge before they fall off."

"You always know just what to say," he grumbles, and wishes it didn't actually make him feel better.

*

Aside from some embarrassing pictures, nothing particularly bad happens at the fair. If Jasper and Monty have some sort of weird thing going, they don't actually do anything else to further it, so it's just a nice afternoon in, admittedly, a very ill-fitting shirt. But he can handle that. He's worn worst, and the pictures are kind of funny.

He's just--still very, very distrusting of his students. They are, absolutely and without a doubt, up to something.

"No, you're right," says Sinclair. Bellamy doesn't talk to him a lot, but he's a cool guy. And Clarke is running late. "They're definitely acting strange. Do you know Raven Reyes?"

"Yeah. She's not in my class now, but I had her for AP US History last year. Don't tell me she's in on this."

"She's certainly been--talkative. She's usually fairly focused on her work, so I'm not sure what to make of it."

"Maybe aliens are slowly taking over our students."

"Their grades don't seem to be slipping," Sinclair says, pragmatic. "So I can't be too upset."

"Yeah, I guess that's the important thing," he says, with a wry smile. He's about to press for more information when Clarke finally breezes in, looking--different.

Clarke's always favored the eccentric artist look in her wardrobe and style choices. She's basically professional, but never quite completely put together. In terms of priorities, looking perfect is not high on Clarke's list.

Which he feels like an asshole for even thinking, because he's never seen Clarke looking anything _but_ perfect. She just doesn't tend to look very tidy. She has better things to do.

So it's strange to see her looking--polished. Her outfit is crisper than usual, and her hair is down, falling in soft waves over her shoulders instead pulled back in her usual braid.

But the exasperated smile she gives him, that's her usual.

"My freshmen wanted to give me a makeover," she says, sitting down across from him.

"Huh. Why?"

"They think I look pretty with my hair down, apparently. And that I'd have a boyfriend if I wore dresses more. So then I explained to them that I'm bisexual, and I'd have a boyfriend _or_ a girlfriend, and if my hypothetical significant other liked me, they'd like me wearing the stuff I always wear. But Charlotte told me that just because someone likes me doesn't mean I _can't_ dress up for them. So--we did a makeover."

"Definitely something in the water," says Sinclair. "But you look very nice, Clarke."

"You're right, though," he says. "If people don't want to date you when you have paint in your hair, fuck them."

"Or don't fuck them," says Sinclair, innocent, and Clarke grins at him.

"Yeah, exactly. But I try not to have paint in my hair when I go on dates," she adds, to Bellamy. "I don't think they get that I don't really come to school to try to find someone to date."

Bellamy doesn't come to school for that either; it's not like he was _trying_ to find her. It just happened. "School's basically all they've got," he points out, like it's not true of him too. He has almost no social life outside of school, and no real desire to date either.

Present company excluded.

"Yeah, they're all dating each other, so why wouldn't teachers be dating too?" she asks, with a roll of her eyes. "But I might start wearing my hair like this," she adds, almost shy. "This is how I wore it when I was in college. The braid's a little more practical, but--"

"You're gonna get so much more paint in your hair," Bellamy teases. But he can't keep it up. "It looks good," he adds, and she ducks her head.

"Thanks. Glad you like it."

*

Clarke's new look--which, really, Bellamy doesn't think that wearing her hair in a very slightly different style should really qualify as a _new look_ \--apparently has a lot of admirers. He overhears Jasper and Harper talking about how pretty she's been looking this week, a few of the GSA kids remarking how it's really a shame she doesn't have someone to appreciate her, and even O asks if Ms. Griffin is doing something new and if he's noticed.

He's always liked Clarke, but he didn't think it was always so _inescapable_. Suddenly, it feels like _everyone_ is talking about her.

Even Clarke is talking about it, which is honestly just unfair.

"I've got a secret admirer," is what she says.

"Seriously?"

She slides a card across the table, and he blinks at it. It's surprisingly--her, honestly. The front says _Well-behaved women seldom make history_ in ornate calligraphy, and inside is just three words, in plain black script: _Vivamus atque amemus_.

"Catullus five," he says, without thinking.

"Bellamy Blake: for all my Latin reading needs," she says. Her voice is warm.

"Or a Latin teacher, but, yeah. I can do it too. _Let us live and let us love_." His eyes flick up to hers, and he can't read her expression. "If you needed me for the translation, how did you know it was a secret admirer?"

"There's this thing called google now. But I'm still glad you can ID it on sight."

"It's a pretty famous one." He taps his finger on the card. "I don't recognize the handwriting."

"Neither do I. But it's pretty plain. Anonymous."

"Keep your eyes open."

She's biting the corner of her mouth, amusement all over her face. "Keep my eyes open?"

"Look, it's cute for now, but--that's pretty inappropriate, right? So if any students are--you should be ready to talk to someone in administration. In case you have to have a really uncomfortable conversation about how wrong it is for a student to be sending this. Trust me, Catullus has a lot of way dirtier stuff. This could escalate."

Clarke ducks her head; to his surprise, her expression is pure delight.

"I'm serious, it's--"

"No, I know you're serious. And thank you for worrying. I appreciate it."

"You're not worried?"

"I think it's a dumb prank. But if it escalates, I'll make sure to report it." She glances around, sees they're basically alone, and leans down to press her lips against his cheek. "Really, thanks. It was good to talk it through with you."

"Sorry I make everything fun too serious," he offers. He feels like he missed something.

"No," she says. "That was perfect."

*

"I'm not sure Mr. Sinclair _wants_ to be dating," Raven says.

Monty and Jasper exchange a look. "Are you giving up?" Jasper asks. "You?"

"I'm just saying, he's showing zero interest in anyone. I should try to talk him into getting a puppy or something." They're still gaping at her, so she snaps, "It's not giving up! I'm trying to do something nice for him. If he doesn't like it, it doesn't count."

"Is he chaperoning the dance on Saturday?" Octavia asks. 

As expected, Octavia has been fairly disengaged from Monty's side of the matchmaking, by which he means she doesn't really want to set up her brother, but also can't really stand to let them go with a shitty idea if she hears about it. But she likes Mr. Sinclair a lot too, so she has been contributing to that.

Plus, Monty is pretty sure she _wants_ them to set her brother up. All of them agree it would be good for him. She just doesn't like participating.

"I think so," says Raven. "Why?"

"Bell is too. Ms. Griffin isn't, but she always goes all-out looking good for dances. If that doesn't get Mr. Sinclair _or_ Bell interested, then they're not interested. So all we have to do is get her there."

"Hasn't your brother seen her at a dance before?" Monty asks, trying to remember himself. He doesn't usually pay much attention to chaperones, but he _does_ know Ms. Griffin always looks good. It's hard not to notice. She so rarely seems to put much effort in, it's always surprising to remember that she's actually gorgeous.

But--and maybe this is just Monty--it always kind of reminds him of those stupid movies where a pretty girl in glasses and messy hair gets a makeover, and everyone suddenly thinks she's pretty. Because she _is_ , of course she is. It's obvious. But Monty always kind of thinks she looked better before.

Still, there's something to be said for the pure gut-punch of _wow, Ms. Griffin has really nice cleavage_.

"Bell hates dances," Octavia is saying. "He never chaperones if he can help it. And Ms. Griffin does so much other stuff, she doesn't have to do dances that much. But if we could talk her into it--"

"She totally knows what's up," Raven says.

"What?" asks Monty.

"I'm just saying, Ms. Griffin knows exactly what's happening. Maybe Mr. Blake hasn't noticed, I'll take Octavia's word for that one, but she figured it out. And she's going with it. So if one of you tells her she should go because he'll be there, she totally will."

"Or you tell her," says Jasper. "You're the least suspicious."

Raven rolls her eyes. "You suck at strategy, Jordan. She doesn't know I'm involved yet. We want to keep me for emergency situations, if you guys piss her off."

"I'll do it," says Monty. "She likes me. As long as someone else can get one of the female chaperones to drop out."

"All over it," says Nate, and it's pure strategy after that.

But Nate catches Monty as they're leaving, jogging to catch up. It always makes Monty just a little excited, to have Nate running after him.

"So, this means we're all going to the dance, right?"

"If you knock out a chaperone, yeah."

Nate grins. "Then I better make sure I do." He flicks Monty's collar. "Wear something cute."

"I wasn't even trying for that," Monty tells Jasper after, a little stunned.

"Love is in the air," says Jasper. He holds up his hand, and Monty does the same, so they can both high-five themselves, as is tradition. "I've got a good feeling about this dance."

"Yeah. I think it's going to be a fun one."

*

When Octavia comes into his room, Bellamy is engaged in his standard pre-dance ritual, which is mostly tying his tie and scowling at his reflection. He didn't like dances much when he _was_ in high school; he went to his first few, freshman year, and then he realized he'd rather hook up on his own terms, without having to suffer through stuffy clothes and shitty music. He started going back to them in college, once alcohol and more amusing themes got involved, but he didn't miss high-school dances at all.

Like most aspects of high school, he found them dumb as a teenager, and revisiting them as an adult hasn't improved his opinion.

"What?" he asks Octavia, when she glares at him.

"Are you seriously wearing your glasses?"

"No, they're ironic." He glances back at her. "What's wrong with my glasses?"

"It's a _dance_ , Bell. You're supposed to dress up. Is that what you're doing with your hair?"

"I'm not doing anything with my hair." He gives it a tug and his frown deepens. Is she embarrassed to be related to him again? Is that what's happening?

"Trust me, I noticed," she says. "Get your contacts in, I'm going to find some hair gel."

"Seriously?" he asks. "I haven't worn hair gel since I graduated from college. And that was just to make Mom happy." Once his mother died, he honestly thought he was done with it. Slicking his hair back always makes him feel like it's class picture day and he's supposed to look _presentable_.

"It's nice to put in the effort. Everyone will appreciate it."

"So, you're embarrassed to be seen with me."

"Basically always, yeah. Come on, Bell. Contacts, hair. Don't embarrass me in front of Atom."

He makes a face. "Atom, seriously? That's who you're--"

"I don't judge your love life, don't you judge mine."

"I don't have a love life. You'd judge it if I had one."

"I'm not judging you for not having one," says Octavia, prim, which is a total fucking lie, but he's not particularly attached to his look, so he finds a pair of contacts that hasn't dried out and lets her decurl his hair. He doesn't think he looks _better_ , particularly, but he doesn't look that much worse. And if it makes his sister happy, he doesn't mind so much. It's the spring fling dance, and he's chaperoning. He honestly does not care how he looks.

"So this means I can talk to you at the dance, right?"

Octavia rolls her eyes. "Don't push your luck."

*

Sinclair raises his eyebrows when Bellamy comes in, and then nods once. "Mr. Bond."

"Shut up."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't tease," he says, without any contrition. "It makes me wish I'd slicked my hair down in unity. Clarke did some sort of complicated knot, so I'm letting the rest of the chaperones down with my lack of effort."

Bellamy isn't drinking anything, so he can't choke on it. But-- "Clarke?" he asks. "I didn't think she was coming."

"Indra had a conflict, so Clarke stepped up. She's helping out with some last-minute decorations in the art room, but she should be back soon." He takes a deliberate drink of water. "Not to editorialize, but I'm interested in neither women nor relationships, and even I have to say she looks lovely."

"And I look like James Bond. Great."

"James Bond is an international sex symbol," Sinclair points out. "There are much worse looks to have."

Bellamy hesitates, but as people to ask go, Sinclair's one of the safer ones. He doesn't gossip much, and he likes Bellamy. He's not going to be a jerk. "So, does everyone know I'm into her, or are there remote polar villages that haven't noticed yet?"

Sinclair claps his shoulder. "Everyone knows about you. But if it makes you feel better, everyone knows about her too. Get her to help you whip the DJ into shape. I'll take over decorating."

Bellamy turns to see her, and he's grateful that he was prepared, that he knew she was here, because she _does_ look lovely. _Lovely_ might be too weak a word. She's wearing a flowing blue dress, her hair twisted up on her head, her shoulders bare and, to his surprise, lightly freckled, like she's recently been in the sun, for all it's only early spring.

But there isn't even a speck of paint in her hair, and he can't help being disappointed in that. Clarke comes from money, and it's not really a surprise that she knows how to make herself look amazing for formal events. But--he likes the Clarke she gets to be when she's left to her own devices, a little messy and frazzled, because she has better things to do than look impeccable.

"Hey," he says, touching her arm.

She turns to him with a wide smile that drops as soon as she takes him in.

"What happened to your glasses?"

"My glasses?" he asks, confused. "O made me wear contacts. She thought I was going to bring everyone down looking messy, I guess."

Her hand tangles in his hair, and her face screws up at the feel of the gel. "Wow, this is really strong."

"My hair really wants to be curly." He swallows, but if the conversation stops, she might realize she's basically just playing with his hair, and he wants that to keep going. "My mom was always trying to straighten it when I was a kid. I guess I take after my dad, and it--she didn't like being reminded of him."

She's running both hands through his hair now, working the rigid lines with gentle fingers, trying to tease them into something different. He's really, really glad the students are working with Sinclair in the gym, or he'd never hear the end of the stupid rumors.

"What happened to him?" Clarke asks, and it takes him a minute to figure out that she means his father.

"He didn't want a kid," he says. "He paid child support, but he didn't want to be involved at all. I've never met him, but he's around somewhere."

"I'm sorry."

"Hard to miss him when I never knew him." It's not entirely true, and judging from her look, she knows that. "O's dad was cool, once he showed up."

"What happened to him?"

"He died a few years before our mom did."

She bites her lip, steps out of his personal space with a sheepish smile. "Not really the best topic of conversation for a dance," she says. "Sorry."

"I brought it up." He clears his throat and gives his head a shake. "You fix my hair?"

"I did my best."

"If Octavia's pissed at me, I'm blaming you."

"Tell her to come talk to me. We can fight about your best hair styles. And how good you look in your glasses."

"I don't love your look either, you know," he says, and instantly regrets it. "I mean, uh--obviously, you look amazing. But--you always look amazing. You don't need all the--stuff. Just you."

It is, objectively speaking, a really shitty speech. But she doesn't look upset at all. If anything, she looks _radiant_ , like that was somehow exactly the right thing to say. By some miracle.

There's a sound in the gym, and it startles him away from looking at her. Which is, honestly, just as well, because he might have kissed her, and that's not something he should do when the kids are showing up soon.

"Sinclair said we needed to help the DJ out," he says, and she laughs.

"You mean yell at him for not being set up yet?"

"Basically."

"Cool, that's my favorite part of every dance."

Ordinarily, Bellamy would agree, but it's honestly a pretty good dance, as they go. Despite what Octavia said, she spends most of the night dancing with her friends, _not_ with Atom, so he doesn't have to be stressed about her getting a boyfriend, and he just gets to hang out by the drinks table, playing rock-paper-scissors with Clarke and Sinclair to see who has to go break up couples who are touching too much or might have alcohol. The music is still too loud and the room is still too hot, but he gets to spend his evening seeing his students be happy with Clarke by his side.

Definitely his best dance ever.

It's Clarke who tells the other chaperones to go home right after.

"There really isn't that much cleanup," she says. "We can handle it. You guys should get going."

He gets a couple knowing looks, but it's hard to be upset about _that_ ; Sinclair said everyone knew, but this one is on Clarke, and if everyone knows Clarke likes him, he's fine with it. 

He just wishes _he_ knew that.

"Did Octavia yell at you?" she asks him.

"What?"

"About your hair."

"Oh, uh--no. She hates talking to me at these things. But I guess it couldn't be that bad, if she resisted."

There's a strange pause, and then Clarke laughs, soft, and shakes her head. "You really haven't noticed."

"Noticed what?"

"Your student conspiracy."

"Shit, what were they doing?" he asks, spooked enough to look around, like Monty and Jasper are lurking somewhere, waiting to pounce on him.

She laughs again. "Bellamy."

"What?"

She pauses, and then nods, decisive. Making up her mind. "Did they ever ask you about me?"

"Uh--yeah, I guess. Not much. They talk about you sometimes? But usually not to me. Just near me."

"Okay, well--they ask me about you all the time. Probably because I'm not a paranoid weirdo, so they weren't scared of spooking me. I play along, so I actually know what's happening. And they're definitely trying to set us up."

"Seriously?"

"Why do you think I got a card with Latin poetry in it? They wanted me to think you sent it. It didn't seem like your style, though." She smiles. "And, you know. You told me to report whoever wrote it for inappropriate conduct."

"Oh," he says. "Wait, does everyone think I'm a Latin nerd? Because I teach debate and history, so--"

"Everyone thinks you're the biggest nerd ever," Clarke says, and it's _impossibly_ fond. Her arms come up around his neck, and she steps in close. "That's probably why they thought you needed help. Hence the whole matchmaking thing."

He swallows hard, lets his own hands rest on her waist. It's the classic high-school dance position for swaying in a circle, but he doesn't start moving. He just wants to be touching her.

"Did I?" he asks. "Need help."

"Just time." She toys with his hair, absent. "It's not like I wasn't already into you. But they were cute. And Nate Miller did get your shirt off, so that was nice."

"Shit, Nate was in on it?" he asks. "I thought that was an accident."

"You're so bad at this. He definitely wanted to impress Monty with helping out with the whole matchmaking thing. It's like you think they come to school to learn instead of being totally ruled by hormones."

"No wonder they're not doing better in my class." He pauses for just a second, but he doesn't know how to wait. He leans in and kisses her, and Clarke tugs him close and kisses back, warm and still laughing, just a little, like there's so much happiness in her some has to leak out.

He can relate.

"We need to clean up," he murmurs. "But O is sleeping over at Zoe's, so--I'm exhausted, but we could hang out."

Her voice is teasing. "Hang out."

"This is why I didn't ask you out. I knew you'd make fun of me."

"But I'd say yes too," she says. She gives him one more kiss before she lets go of him. "You're right. Let's get cleaned up and _hang out_."

They really do just watch Netflix until they pass out, but in the morning she expresses profound appreciation for his curly, post-shower hair, and then drags him back into bed until lunch time, so he figures she has to be pretty happy.

He can still relate.

*

By three weeks after the dance, all of their matchmaking schemes have pretty much fallen apart. Mr. Blake and Ms. Griffin are the same as ever, and Mr. Sinclair came to the GSA to give a talk about being on the asexuality spectrum, and specifically aromantic, so Raven tricked him into getting a puppy and called it a day.

And Monty got a boyfriend out of the whole thing, so if nothing else, he's coming out ahead. And it was _fun_ , of course. It would have been more fun if it had resulted in Mr. Blake actually loosening up and being less of a hardass because he was getting laid regularly, but they can't have everything. It still feels like a broadly successful endeavor.

So it's hard to not feel a little bit betrayed when Octavia lets them into her apartment one Saturday and they find Mr. Blake and Ms. Griffin snuggled on the couch, watching _Arrested Development_.

Mr. Blake jerks up; Ms. Griffin mostly just looks irritated at being disturbed from her comfortable position on his chest.

"I thought you guys were going to Harper's," he says, addressing Octavia, like if he ignores the rest of them they won't realize that they _caught him cuddling with Ms. Griffin_.

"I thought you weren't dating Ms. Griffin," Octavia shoots back.

Mr. Blake rubs his face. "I was going to tell you. I didn't want to jinx it."

"You didn't want to deal with this exact situation," says Ms. Griffin, sounding a little smug. 

"How long?" Octavia demands. Monty is glad someone has a legitimate reason to feel outraged; it would be weird if he acted like he should have been informed.

"Three weeks."

"Since the dance?" Harper asks, sounding excited.

"I knew the dance was a good idea," says Octavia, smug.

"Yeah, yeah," says Mr. Blake. "You also gave me shitty advice about my hair and glasses, so I'm only giving you partial credit." He clears his throat. "So you guys are hanging out here?"

"We are _now_ ," says Jasper. He's still gaping. "You gave me a B-minus on my paper last week!"

"Uh, yeah," says Mr. Blake. "If you want to contest a grade, you really need to do it at school. I don't negotiate when I'm wearing my pajamas."

Octavia huffs. "You didn't even dress up for your date. She's gonna dump you, Bell."

"She didn't dress up either." Monty doesn't blame him for not sounding concerned; Ms. Griffin has already settled back in, and his hand is resting on her waist with no sign he's planning to move it, possibly ever. 

"If you're happy, why did I get a B-minus?" Jasper persists, undeterred.

Mr. Blake looks genuinely confused. "Because you wrote a B-minus paper. Did you think if I got a girlfriend, your grades would get better? I showed you the rubric I use. _Mr. Blake's Personal Life_ isn't something you're being evaluated on." Jasper seems like he's going to reply, but apparently Mr. Blake isn't done being flabbergasted. "I appreciate you guys being weirdly invested in our relationship, but seriously, just put all your matchmaking energy into debate class and it's gonna be a lot better for your academics performance."

Ms. Griffin looks kind of nauseatingly into of him, honestly. Monty likes hot guys who are secretly kind of giant dorks--see: Nate--but even he's having a little trouble getting behind this one.

Then again, it's not his relationship. He doesn't have to understand it.

"That's _thanks_ ," says Ms. Griffin. "In, you know. Bellamy language."

"That's _stop watching us watch TV and go work on your project_ ," he corrects, gruff.

Ms. Griffin pats his arm. "Which is a lot like thanks."

"Just like," Monty agrees. "Your room, Octavia?"

It's just him, Octavia, Jasper, and Harper, because they have a group project to finish for English, but when they get into Octavia's room, they just sit in stunned silence for a minute.

It's Octavia who finally says, "You think Raven could trick them into getting a dog, too?"

Monty pulls out his phone and texts Nate: _We definitely hooked up Mr. Blake and Ms. Griffin. Caught them in the first stage of Neflix & chill_. Then he turns his attention back to Octavia. "Right now, I'm feeling like we can do anything."

"Except study for debate class," Harper says, elbowing Jasper.

"Hey," says Jasper. "Let's not do anything too drastic, okay? He'd _definitely_ lighten up if we got him a girlfriend _and_ a dog. There's no way he wouldn't."

Monty can't help a grin of his own. Their English project can wait. "Definitely," he agrees, leaning in. "So, what's the plan?"


End file.
